Falling Up
by nintendosegasonyguy
Summary: What if things had gone differently between Patrick and Charlie? What if Patrick had fallen for him? Alternate timeline/universe kind of thing. Contains major spoilers for the entire book. CharliexPatrick.
1. Chapter 1: The Kiss

**Author's Note: Hello, all. NintendoSegaSonyGuy, here. I just finished "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" a week or two ago, and I gotta say, it really resonated with me. It finally inspired me to start writing again. Sorry to all my fans of my VG Cats stories, but Wallflower got me to write again, so…**

**This is going to be a short fanfic; only a few chapters long. Mostly, it's just going to involve a slight change in the main plot-line of the book to create an alternate reality/ending to the book. I'm writing this fanfic the same way the book is written: basically all in letters/journal entries. Each chapter is composed of one letter. This creates a few short chapters, like this one, but what are you going do?**

**The italics in this chapter represent actual quotations from the book. The descriptions are used to set up the setting of the story and how everything is going. The dating for each of the letters is completely intentional; I don't misdate them or anything. They are also in italics, but not all of them are from the actual book, so please don't get confused.**

**I don't quote any descriptions from the book straight for the rest of this story.**

**All that aside, hope you enjoy!**

_May 11, 1992_

…_So, Patrick and I shared all the stories we could think of. By the end, all I could think was what these people must feel like when they go to their class reunions. I wonder if they're embarrassed, and I wonder if that's a small price to pay for being a legend._

_After we sobered up a bit with coffee and Mini Thins, Patrick drove me home. The mix tape I made for him hit a bunch of winter songs. And Patrick turned to me._

"_Thanks, Charlie."_

"_Sure."_

"_No. I mean in the cafeteria."_

"_Sure."_

_After that, it was quiet. He drove me home and pulled up on the driveway. We hugged good night, and when I was just about to let go, he held me a little tighter. And he moved his face to mine. And he kissed me. A real kiss. Then, he pulled away real slow._

"_I'm sorry."_

"_No. That's okay."_

"_Really. I'm sorry."_

"_No, really. It was okay."_

_So, he said "thanks" and hugged me again. And moved in to kiss me again. And I just let him. I don't know why. We stayed in his car for a long time._

_We didn't do anything other than kiss. And we didn't even do that for very long. After a while, his eyes lost the glazey numb look from the wine or the coffee or the fact that he had stayed up the night before._

Then, he started crying. I think I knew why, but he didn't say anything. In fact, neither of us spoke for the rest of the night. He leaned on my shoulder and cried into it, and I just let him. Because that's what friends are for.

I don't know how long it was, but finally, he stopped crying. He sat back up, and took a deep breath. He turned away and wouldn't look at me. We just sat in an uncomfortable silence. I unlocked my door and got out. I didn't wave or anything to him as I opened the front door to my house. He drove away almost immediately.

That night, I lay awake for a long time. And I thought about Patrick. And I thought about how I had fought Brad and his friends. And I thought about how quickly everything had returned to normal, how I was friends with Sam, Patrick, Mary Elizabeth, and everyone else again. And I thought about how Patrick said that he thought it was bullshit that the different groups wore different clothes for different reasons. Little things like that all throughout this past week or so.

I didn't think about the kiss. At least, I don't remember thinking about it. Maybe I had. Maybe I had for a long time. I don't know. I wondered if Patrick thought about it at all. I still don't know if he told Sam, and Bob, and Mary Elizabeth, and all our other friends about it or not.

Love always,

Charlie


	2. Chapter 2: Helping Hand

_May 19, 1992_

Dear friend,

It seems that every morning since that first night, my head is pounding, and it's so hard to breathe. I wake up literally drenched in sweat. Not even a hot shower can really seem to wake me up anymore. It's all a weird feeling. At least thinking too much is no longer a problem, because I can never really seem to anymore.

I know this vacuous feeling isn't a hangover, either. Every night, when Patrick and I hang out, he's always the one who drinks. I barely ever have a sip of wine. Speaking of which, I've been spending a lot of my time with him lately. Much more time than anyone else, both Sam and my family included. It's just so hard seeing Patrick hurt this much. He may laugh and joke a lot, like usual, but when we're not talking, when there's nothing but silence, I can see it in his eyes. He's so lonely and sad. I wish I could make him feel better, but I don't know how.

The past few nights Patrick has taken me to this park where men go to find each other, or "hook up", as Patrick tells me. They do it anonymously. No strings attached or anything.

The first night in particular, we sat at this bench somewhere in the middle of the park. I looked around. There were silhouettes of all these couples. Some were standing underneath a tree. Some were lying in the grass. I could even hear ones that were closer to the bench. I didn't exactly feel comfortable sitting out there, but I didn't want to ruin it for Patrick, so I didn't say anything. Pretty soon, he spotted someone he liked. He turned to me and asked me if I needed any cigarettes. After I told him no, he patted my shoulder and walked away. He told me before to stay in one spot and just not look up at anyone; that way, no one would bother me. I did just that.

I lit a cigarette. I heard somebody next to me whisper, "Got an extra cigarette?" I turned to him. In the vague light emitted from my cigarette, I could see that he was man in his early twenties, much older than me. Only later did I realize who he actually was.

I told him no. And that was the truth. I only had one on me. Patrick had the rest.

The stranger walked away without another word. I looked down to the ground. No one else bothered me that night, and I was glad that they didn't. When my cigarette was mostly used up, I tossed the bud away, onto the cement at my feet. When Patrick came back, he took me home. He didn't say anything about what he did, and I didn't ask him about it. But he didn't look happy, or fulfilled, like I had hoped he'd be. He looked more miserable than ever. When we got to my house, he kissed me again. And I just let him.

Another night, he took me to this place where you can buy drugs. Not the kind of conventional drugs that Bob sells, but other, stranger kinds. Weird things you inhale. He said something about looking for poppers, but the guy didn't have them in stock, so instead he gave us some kind of aerosol can. I don't really remember the rest of the night after we inhaled the spray. Neither does Patrick, but he said we had a good time. I hope he at least did.

The main thing I was always afraid of was the nights when Patrick would pick someone up. He took me to all sorts of places were he could finds guys, not just in that park. He didn't always pick up guys, though, and on those days, he was happier, and he didn't drink or smoke as much. But on nights were he did pick up guys, he'd always be very excited at the beginning of the night, then very sad at the end of the night. I guess it just wasn't working anymore. He never looked numb or glazey. Just kind of there, seemingly unaware of the rest of the world, sometimes even me. I don't think I was ever helping him on those nights, and that's what made me really sad.

Tonight, after he pulled up to my house, he finally said something at the end. It was a night where he picked someone up. It was also a night I had drank a little bit more than a sip.

He was much more talkative than on a lot of the other nights. We made some brief small talk, before he got serious.

"Hey, Charlie?"

"Yeah?"

"What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"You know…me leaving you to go…? Do you ever get bored? Do you ever feel bad about it?" It seemed he was doing his best to express his disconcertion, but he didn't really seem to know what to say.

I thought about what to say. I really did.

Finally, I knew exactly what to say. I just hoped that this was the right time to be honest with him. I didn't want to ruin anything again, like I had with Mary Elizabeth. If I did something like that again, then I don't think I would ever seen any of my friends again.

"It's not so much waiting that bothers me. It's that you never seem happy after you're done. We drive home and you never say anything. You just look…well, terrible. On the nights when you don't pick up guys, you seem way happier, and it makes me glad to see you that way."

He just stared at me. His gaze was soft.

I added, "I'd like to think that me coming along with you helps. Like you always have someone to fall back on and talk to, if you feel like it. Do I help?"

His mouth quivered. It looked like he was going to cry. He hugged me. In my ear, he whispered, "More than I let you know."

He held me tight, and I did the same. He thanked me for being his friend. Then he let go. That was the first night he didn't kiss me. But it looked like he really wanted to.

I thanked him back and got out of the car. He slowly drove home.

Bill gave me a new book to read a few days ago. It's called _The Fountainhead_, and it's very long. Bill told me to be skeptical about it when I read it. "Act like a filter, rather than a sponge", he had said.

I haven't even begun reading it yet. I've spent too much time with Patrick, and now I'm behind in all my classes. I want to get straight A's this year, but it's hard. At least I've made some progress with Patrick. Maybe I can get back on track with school soon. I hope so, at least.

Love always,

Charlie

**Author's Note: Admittedly, and much like the first chapter, this one isn't so original. It's all a part of setting up everything and what not, but I do paraphrase a lot of what goes into the actual part of this story. I throw my unique spin on it all, of course, but the originality and "twist" doesn't really come into play until the next chapter.**

**Anyway, hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3: Lost

_May 28, 1992_

Dear friend,

Nothing seems real anymore. I can't think. I can't breathe. I can't eat, drink, or smoke. I don't know what's wrong with me, but I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality. I feel sick all the time, and I keep having these awful nightmares. And it's not drugs, or alcohol, or any of that. I know exactly what it is. And it hurts. It's really hurting me. And I don't know why.

I haven't seen any of my friends the past several days. And I don't want to see them. Not even Sam. Because if I saw them, then I'd see him. And it wasn't worth it to me. I can't believe I feel this way. It's never really come up before.

To tell you the truth, I've just been avoiding everything. It's like how I felt when school first started back up, in April. It seems everything has started back over from that point. I thought about the boy who wanted French fries and Michael and Susan and the boy who called me a 'fucking freak'. I felt like such a stranger in the halls. I couldn't focus in Bill's class, and when he tried to talk to me after we were dismissed, I just walked away from him.

I couldn't read _The Fountainhead_. Not because it's a bad book, but because I just can't seem to read it. The last time I tried, I threw the book against the wall. It landed with a loud thud on the floor. I just can't seem to stop and focus on the words. I'm too distracted all the time.

I know exactly on what day it happened. Patrick and I went out again, like normal. It was a nice evening. We went and had dinner at The Big Boy. Patrick was talking a lot more than ever before. And I could tell he wasn't just talking to talk. He didn't look very numb to me. He hadn't seemed numb since that night he didn't kiss me. Maybe that's when I should've seen it. But I didn't. I was just too happy to, because he was happy. He was happy because of me, and that meant the world to me.

Throughout it all, I still wonder if all my time spent with Patrick was ill-spent or not.

Anyway, one of the things we talked about was _The_ _Rocky Horror Picture Show_. He was sorely missed as the person who plays Frank 'N Furter. Sam had told me the last time I saw her to talk about it with Patrick.

"You two have been hanging out so much lately. I wouldn't be surprised if he listened to whatever you had to say. So can you ask him for us?"

After a long time, I finally convinced him to play the role again. He agreed. But only on the condition that the next time he would do it would be the last time. I tried to haggle with him to make it a few more times than that, but he had a steady argument: Senior year was drawing to a close for him. They wouldn't be able to act in the play forever. I could understand that. So the matter was settled.

He drove me to my house a few hours later. I was prepared to hug him goodnight, but he stopped me.

"Can I come up to your room and hang out with you for a while?"

I looked at the car clock. It was a little past midnight. The rest of my family was definitely asleep; all the lights in the house were out. There was a slight chance my sister may have been up, but it wasn't that likely. I told him that I wasn't sure if he should come with me. He insisted, though. I could see it in his eyes that he didn't want to be alone anymore.

I opened the front door with him just behind me. We both walked quietly up to my room. He seemed pretty impressed with it. I guess because I was so used to it, I really couldn't see any distinguishing features about it. But apparently he could.

He immediately made himself right at home by sitting and lying down on my bed. I didn't care.

"Your room is so freaking clean!"

"I know."

He looked around. He spotted _The Fountainhead_ on the desk, along with many of my other books. He picked it up.

"Man…you're already reading this?"

I sat down next to him.

"Actually, no. I haven't started it yet."

"It's been ages since I read it. Are you reading it just for fun?"

"No. My teacher Bill specifically assigned it for just me to read."

"Why the hell would he do that?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. He just thinks I can understand it. It's not the first book he's had me read."

Patrick looked back at the stack. _The Stranger, Naked Lunch, A Separate Piece, To Kill a Mockingbird, Peter Pan_…it was all there.

"I can see that."

He asked me all about it, and for the next half hour, I told him all about Bill.

Then we started talking about all the books. He had read quite a few of them. The one we spent the most time talking about was _The Catcher in the Rye_. I think it was his favorite out of all the books, because he kept telling me how he and a lot of people he knew (Sam, Bill, Mary Elizabeth, etc.) had all read it and loved it. Either that, or it was the only book he had read among them, along with _The Fountainhead_. I told him it was also one of my favorites, then he told me that all books I read were my favorites, and we both laughed. He really knew me.

This discussion got me started thinking of the future, when Patrick and Sam would eventually leave for college. I didn't think about enough to get sad, though. I just thought about getting each of them copies of all the books I had. Kind of spread the message of good literature, similar to what I do with music with my mix tapes.

We ended up losing serious track of time.

Eventually, the conversation slowed down, until it really just ended. Patrick started giving me a strange look. It was warm and different. He even stopped blinking.

It took me a moment to realize what the look reminded me of. And when it did, my heart started beating really hard. I started feeling very nervous.

"Charlie…" Patrick said real quiet. When I didn't say anything back, he scooted closer to me. He never stopped staring at me.

"Remember how you said that if you were gay, you'd wanna date me?"

"Yeah?"

Then he hugged me. But it wasn't a normal kind of hug. He was hugging me just like Mary Elizabeth used to. It had…lust in it, I guess. We were quiet for a little bit before he said something again.

"Do you want to…try it? With me?" He looked up at me.

I had never seen Patrick act this way. And to be honest, it kind of scared me.

I started thinking about Brad and Patrick, what things between the two of them must have been like, and how hard it had been on both of them all this time. Especially Patrick.

I told him yes. Just this once. He smiled and kissed me.

That was the first time I had ever felt his tongue. We didn't stop kissing for a while. Not as he held me face in his hands, trying to make the kiss even deeper than it already was. Not as he laid me down on my own bed, slowly getting on top of me. And not as he reached down under my shirt, touching my chest and stomach.

"Can you lift your arms, please?" he whispered. He was breathing rather hard, and his face was red. I did so, and he took of my shirt. He embraced me again. It was soft.

While this was happening, I couldn't think of anything except that I felt that this was wrong, somehow. My heart just wasn't into it, and I was so scared. Despite that, my mind was melting away. So was my ability to move. I just lay there, powerless to whatever Patrick wanted to do.

He stopped kissing me on the mouth and took off his own shirt. Then he started kissing my neck. He kept going lower and lower. He started kissing me all across my bare chest. Even licking me occasionally, like a cat.

It was getting really hot. I even let out a quiet sound every now and then. So did Patrick. But he wouldn't stop. I don't know if I really wanted him to stop.

He asked me if I would touch him. Hesitantly, I touched his bare chest. He waited, and I moved it around. He chuckled and clasped my hand, sliding it slowly down his body very slowly, until he got to the belt of his pants. He looked at me, and smiled. And he made me touch him. By the look on his face, this was something beautiful. Something he could only share with someone he loved. I knew he loved me, right then and there.

But I certainly did not feel the same way. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't see it the same way that he did. It hurt then, and it still hurts now.

I finally stopped him when he started to touch me back.

"What's wrong?" he asked, but I was already crying. It had felt good. That's the part I simply don't understand. I _liked_ it. I didn't know what was wrong. There were too many things going at once.

"Charlie…"

"Patrick…"

"Are you okay?"

"No…no, I don't think I am." I turned away from him, partially out of shame, partially because I didn't want to see him. I wanted him to leave. Right away.

"Was it something I did?"

I didn't say anything.

"Are you not ready? Is that it?"

I sniffed and didn't say anything.

"…Should I leave?"

I nodded into my pillow. He sighed. He patted my shoulder. The bed shifted as he got off. I could hear some rustling; I guess he was putting his shirt back on.

"I'm sorry, Charlie…"

I could hear footsteps, then a door open and close. Shortly thereafter, I could hear the front door and open and close. The house was quiet again, except for my hiccups and sniffling.

I don't know how long I lay there crying. Maybe it wasn't that long, because I ended up falling asleep rather quickly. I had this dream. My brother and my sister and I were watching television with my Aunt Helen. Everything was slow and distorted. The sound was thick, heavy, and muffled. Aunt Helen was doing what Patrick was doing. That's when I woke up, and I didn't know what the hell had happened, or what time it was, or anything.

It's been like that ever since. Whether I'm asleep or awake, nothing feels real. The dream with Aunt Helen is ever recurring. I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. I can't confide in anyone. I'm scarred of facing them. I'm scarred at what they might do, or what they might say. I wish my Aunt Helen was still alive so badly, but even then, I don't know if she could help me. I'm starting to think that maybe it's not just a dream. And maybe my psychiatrist's questions aren't so weird anymore.

I'm sorry, but I have to stop this letter now. It's all I can do to prevent going into a trance and never snapping out of it. This is probably going to be the last time you ever hear from me.

But first, I want to thank you for being one of those people who listens and understands people like me and doesn't try to sleep people even though you could have. I really mean it, and I'm sorry I've put you through all this even though it's my burden and not yours. I'm sorry we've never met in person, and you don't know who I am because I promised myself and everyone I love that I would keep all those little secrets. Please don't think you're just some random person in the phone book that I sent that very first letter to on a whim. No, you mean more to me than that. It'd kill me if you thought otherwise. Please believe me that I felt horrible about everything after Michael died. I felt terrible about the kid with the French Fries, I felt terrible about how Susan couldn't even stand to look at me in the hallways, I felt terrible about my Aunt Helen, I felt terrible how I could never get Sam to love me in that way back, and I felt terrible about what Patrick and I did that night. And even though I don't know you, I can't help but feel that you are a good person too. You're like a communion, because a communion listens and remembers, unlike a diary which can just be found.

Please don't worry about me, or think about me, or wonder who I am. I'm so sorry I wasted all your time but you have no idea how much you helped me. I hope you have a nice life because I think highly of you and really feel you deserve one. I really do.

I guess this is it, then. Goodbye.

Love always,

Charlie

**Author's Note: Well, there we go. There's my story.**

**The whole thing was inspired from that fact that the author of the book, Stephen Chbosky, sets up this whole long thing with Patrick and Charlie; how Charlie saves him from Brad and his friends, then the two start really hanging out, and Patrick ends up kissing him and everything. The thing is, all that never amounted to anything. At one point, it all suddenly stops, never to be brought up again. I guess the idea was that it was just a moment of weakness for him, since he and Brad just broke up, but still; I felt it kind of pointless to set up that much only to not capitalize on it at all. It was definitely a weaker part of the story in my eyes.**

**So the fanfic was written to fulfill a kind of "what if". Had Chbosky gone through with any kind of serious romance between Patrick and Charlie, I doubt it would have been as extreme as I make it out to be, but I guess we'll never know.**

**The ending to this chapter is basically how Part 4 of the book ends. It's the part just before the epilogue, and the realization, and yadda yadda yadda. I'm debating whether or not I should write an epilogue to this fanfic, explaining what happens afterwards, but I'm not sure if it's really necessary. You tell me. Is it better to leave all this open to interpretation, or just finish it?**

**I had also originally planned on a "happy" ending to this as well. Basically, Charlie and Patrick have sex uninterrupted and they end up together. My thought process for that one was that Charlie would only freak out about being touched sexually if it was by a girl (he freaked out when Sam did that at the end of the actual book), and not by a boy. Plus, the two could end up together because they were really becoming close right around this time canonically speaking. There would be nothing about therapy about his Aunt Helen or anything. But I'm really not sure about it. I think it's more realistic to think that Charlie would flip out about being touched either way. He's that kind of character.**

**So I hoped you enjoyed this short little fanfic that took a LONG time in the making! More to come soon!**


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